Post date: Mar 20, 2016 8:55:51 PM
Reflections on Corny Affirmations: positive statements I wrote for my students. Blog post for March 20, 2016
One of the things I’ve worked on while off for foot surgery is sorting through files, physical and digital, as I look to retirement. I came across a short document composed several years ago that had gotten copied onto a flash drive taken to work: I named it "Corny Affirmations."
I remembered the class: A Comp. 2 section right before Spring Break, having a mass melt down about all of the work they still needed to do to finish the semester. I had a blend of traditional and nontraditional students, and many were juggling family with work and school. A few had already overcome a few obstacles and felt they were not going to make it. So, we stopped the lesson plan of the day, and I shared my own story of going back to college a young mom and then going through a divorce, and having to do it as a single mom.
I encouraged them to put things into perspective, and we made a quick list of positive statements. Here was my list—I told them to copy it down and add half a dozen statements of their own. Some resisted, but saw everyone else jotting them down and a few gave me some suggestions. Of course, I got a laugh when I pointed out that the first two statements only applied to them: for teachers, we’re in school until when we retire, and our families know too well that evenings and weekends get crowded with grading and lesson plans.
Corny Affirmations
School is not forever.
I will get my life back someday.
I am accomplishing important things.
I am a strong person.
I can juggle many things.
I am building skills.
THINK POSITIVE!!!!!
All too often, when we are tired and discouraged, and life has managed to throw us a few curve balls, we find ourselves overwhelmed and start talking and thinking in the negative zone. I will never get through this situation. I cannot do this. I am going to fail. Why did I think I could accomplish this? When we articulate our negative attitude, however, we generally live down to those expectations. While some of my students looked skeptical, the intervention seemed to help the rest. We survived the rest of the semester together, and most of them managed to check off their lists of things to do.
I chuckled when I first found this little piece, and then realized it could apply to my recovery, as well as retirement. Life is a series of transitions and stages, isn’t it? Change is difficult and disruptive. It has been a very strange experience to have surgery during the semester, to turn my classes over to substitutes (who are all wonderful teachers!), and to focus on myself and my own recuperation. The past six weeks have been something of a withdrawal from my normal life: I have had lots of time sitting in my big lift chair (thank you, Jane—my mother in law) and reading on my Kindle, reflecting, dozing, surfing on my iPad, or watching television. Mike set up my laptop so that I could use remote desktop to see all of my files from my big PC and I worked on the research for a project I’m doing.
I used the wheelchair exclusively for almost 6 weeks and the world looks different when you are sitting in a wheelchair—I had to accept my limitations and found it humbling to ask for help, whether getting the ice tea pitcher out of the frig, an article of clothing off the tall side of my closet, heating up food in the microwave, or one of many other tasks. The few times I went to the grocery store or Walmart, I found the experience both exhilarating and exhausting: most of the shelves were too high for me to reach and the store was clearly not focused on being accessible to people in wheelchairs. We ate out a couple of times and this proved to be challenging as well, with some places being more responsive to helping someone enter their restaurant than others. I was amazed at how difficult it could be to open a heavy door to a restroom.
Overall, most of the people I encountered out in public were friendly and sympathetic, and tried to help me. Many went out of their way to smile, greet me, and ask if they could help. My husband and friends were wonderful when they took me out and about, and I was thankful again that I had handicapped parking plates.
Our villa, with its roomy hallways and doorways, was an ideal environment for my recuperation, especially with the help of our dynamic duo, Lynn and Kathy, who helped to prepare the house for surgery. We moved a few pieces of furniture around and removed trip hazards. Mike did all of the shopping and cooking and became the entertainment director, as we watched Downton Abbey, House, Longmire, and House of Cards.
The At Home aides came in daily for just one hour and it was amazing what we could accomplish: loading and unloading the dishwasher, washer and dryer; preparing lunch; making tapioca, popcorn, muffins or more sun tea; washing my hair; and keeping me company. When you are used to being out and about all day, talking to students and interacting with colleagues, it can be lonely to be home by yourself all day, especially when you cannot do that much for yourself at first.
Family also played a role: it was good to see my son, Jon, his wife Alicia and the grandsons several times. My sister brought food and visited, and called to check on me numerous times. I kept up with other family members like my daughter Mikki via Facebook, text messages, and phone calls. We had the chance to go see Zootopia with Alicia and the boys several Saturdays ago, and it was interesting to navigate that experience in the wheelchair. We had fun and it was a great movie.
As I transition to using my walker, putting more weight on my foot, and getting back to normal, I am thankful to look outside my window and see the grass getting green and hear the wind blowing the trees. Winter is giving way to Spring, and with it, my time as a “shut-in.” I’m not there yet, but I can start to imagine it. I’m thinking positive.
Updated March 20, 2016